Morag Joss: Half Broken Things

Because there is nothing I can do to stop the Standish-Caves coming here. They are expected soon. I have the date. In fact I have always had the date, though I have been unable until now to connect it with something that might actually happen. But Shelley rang to check up on me again and to confirm the date. She has informed me that they will be taking a taxi from Heathrow and will be here by half past four on that day. They want me to be here to hand over the keys, and expect me to be ready to go by six o’clock.

That being so, I thought, I shall have tea ready for them. They shall be received with such ceremony and circumstance, by this humble, fawning, slightly embarrassing house sitter, that they will not refuse. I shall make such an obsequious fuss and show of this cake I have made for them that they will indulge me. I shall bake them a cake to welcome them back, made with apples, honey, fruit and spice, which will mask any foreign taste, assuming that monkshood has any. I think it more likely that it imparts a bitterness, that is all. And with the spices to distract the tastebuds, any slight bitterness on the tongue will not be noticed until after enough has been swallowed.

Jean began to glow with her idea. As she worked in the house, she planned it in detail. On the day when she believed that she had it perfect in her mind, she went to the walled garden. Michael stretched up from picking beans and together they strolled down towards the paddock. It was after five o’clock, and Steph had taken Charlie indoors for his bath.

It was, of course, unthinkable. But it was less unthinkable than all of them having to leave Walden and have all the other things catch up with them. Only that would be truly unallowable. Michael saw that at once.

‘A cake? Are you sure it’ll work?’

‘I’m going to use the roots. They’re the most poisonous part. I’ll grate it up small, it’ll look like ginger. All the books say it’s deadly.’

‘But even if it works… even if it does, somebody will know, won’t they? People will know they’re coming back. They’ll be missed.’

‘Listen. I’ll tell Town and Country that the Standish-Caves came back as planned but then they decided not to stay here after all, and went off back to the States. But even though the contract with Town and Country has expired they’re keeping me on themselves, privately, because I know the house so well by now. And it’s for an indefinite period, because Mr Standish-Cave’s been developing some business interests over there. All right?’

‘But what about money? There won’t be any more coming in. How will we manage?’

We can write to their bank again, can’t we? We can instruct them to carry on paying me, double my salary even. And they’ll have credit cards on them. Chequebooks for their other accounts, passports. We’ll be able to get at all their accounts.’

‘I’ve already got stuff on all their investments. It’s all in the study. I could set up an e-mail address. I’ll say I’m him, I’ll e-mail the whole lot of them, the bank, the advisor, everybody, tell them to use e-mail now, because I’m living abroad. Oh God, it’d work.’

‘And you could say that all statements and all the correspondence are to be sent to Walden Manor from now on, because you might be moving about and there would be arrangements there for forwarding things.’

They had walked round the paddock and returned to the garden. Now they were sitting side by side on a bench green with mould, looking down the path towards the gate in the far wall. Beyond, across the back lawn, stood the dark wall of the house. Jean waited for Michael, who looked excited but still fearful, to speak again.

‘We could just go on as before,’ he said softly. ‘We won’t be greedy, will we? When we get the statements for the other accounts we’ll see what comes in from the investments and what they spend. We’ll just make sure we don’t get through any more than that. There’ll be enough for everything. Repairs when we need them, everything.’

‘Yes, and I was thinking… Charlie’s going to need a swing soon. You could fix one up in one of the trees. And we could get him a slide.’

‘And Steph quite fancies getting a cat. Somebody’s selling kittens, she says, there’s an ad in the village shop. We could get a cat.’

‘Well, yes, we could. We should get two, though, I believe they’re happier in pairs. Oh, we could do all sorts of things.’

‘It’d work. Nobody would ever know.’

‘We just need to get through the… the necessary part, the awful bit. Without making mistakes, or getting frightened and giving up.’

‘It’ll be easier this time. We weren’t expecting it last time, it was crazy, horrible, it just came at us out of the blue. This time we can plan it. We’ve got time to get everything right.’

‘And when we- you know- when we have to get rid of them, you won’t have to do all that again. You needn’t go off with them, in a hurry, like last time. We’ll think of something else. There must be easier ways, more gradual. Burning, maybe.’

‘We’ve got to manage it somehow,’ Michael said, looking straight ahead. ‘Otherwise we won’t ever be safe.’

‘We will. Because we’ve got to,’ Jean said. ‘And when we do, we’ll be safe forever.’

It was twilight when they walked back down the path to the house. Steph had come back downstairs with Charlie and had switched on lights as she went. Their yellow glow shone from every window into the surrounding dark.

Michael got down to some serious planning the next day. What, he said, if they decided to do a tour of the house and garden the moment they arrived? Jean shook her head.

‘I suppose they might. But I’ll be at the door when they arrive, I’ll tell them tea’s already poured in the kitchen. Even if they do look round quickly, it won’t look so different, will it? Even if they notice one or two things, suppose they see there are no photographs on the tables for instance, I’ll say I put them away for safe keeping.’

‘What if they go upstairs?’

‘They won’t. And just in case they do, I’ll move my things back into the tiny little room they gave me. Move your things up to the attic. And I’ll lock the nursery and not be able to find the key.’

Over the next few days, together they made lists of what had to be done. Michael bought Jean a cotton skirt and top from the supermarket to wear on the day, since Mrs Standish-Cave might well recognise even the blandest of her own clothes on Jean. They planned that on the day they were due back, Michael’s van, and Michael and Steph and Charlie, would be nowhere in sight. But Michael, having left Steph and Charlie somewhere with the van, would walk back and stay out of the way but close at hand, ready to come the moment Jean called out for him.

Jean found the pieces of broken porcelain at the back of the cupboard where she had put them in January, and made a passable attempt at reassembling the teapot. Back in one piece, though crazed now with a frenzy of fine golden glue lines, it sat once again in its place on the sideboard in the dining room. Nearer the time Jean would replace the keys in it, in case the Standish-Caves wanted to get their hands on them even before tea. Jean also decided that if she set a large bowl of flowers on the dining table, it would prevent their noticing the black rings that had appeared on it since they had seen it last. Michael said that the day before they came back he would clean the pool, replace the winter cover and close up the pavilion. But all these were precautions. Jean could not imagine that the Standish-Caves would do anything other than come to the kitchen and sink their grateful teeth into her cake. She would have slices of it cut and ready for them on plates, waiting.